


Tell Me

by mydeira



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joyce might be in over her head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written ages ago to cheer sadbhyl up.

The rain was biting cold, stinging like needles as she tried unsuccessfully to hail a cab.

 

A hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her harshly back, out of the rain and under cover of the awning.  The inertia brought her stumbling against a solid wall of wool and muscle.

 

“What are you running from, Joyce?” asked the low, cultured British tenor.  The boy had grown into a man.  Angles and shadows in place of roundness and youthful idealism.  There was nothing of the prim, prissy Watcher he had once been.

 

Joyce tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, pulling her snug against his body.

 

“Wesley,” she pleaded, trying to ignore the desire ignited by the feel of him, hard and strong with his own desire evident against her stomach.

 

“Come back inside, you won’t find a cab until the weather clears.”  It was not a suggestion, as he was pulling her inside the hotel after him.

 

Her heart sped up in panic.  It had only been harmless flirtation.  A familiar face in a crowd of strangers.  The accent, the dark, soulful eyes...she hadn’t been able to resist.  It had been too long since she felt warm and attractive when in the company of another man.  She hadn’t known what a dangerous game she had been playing.

 

Drinks and relaxed conversation had led back to his room where things had being going quite well until she got cold feet.  She was too old for such foolishness.  And while she was acquainted with this man, she didn’t know him all that well.  So Joyce had run out and away, only to be stopped by the bitter rain.

 

The elevator dinged and he pulled her inside.  Her wrist would be purple in the morning.

 

Hitting the button for his floor as an afterthought, Wesley backed her into the farthest corner of the elevator, trapping her there.

 

“Joyce,” he rumbled close to her ear, the day old stubble scratching against her cheek, “what are you so afraid of?”

 

She trembled, closing her eyes.

 

Fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her head back, forcing her eyes open.  Forcing her to look at him.

 

“Tell me you don’t want me,” he growled, tugging harder.

 

“I don’t want you,” she said.  But the breathiness and the moan that followed as he rocked his hips against her gave it little credence.

 

“Tell me to stop.”  Flash of white teeth and then his mouth was on hers, tongue delving in past her surprise.  He thrust deeply, sweeping aside her tongue as he explored every inch.

 

Instinctively she pressed closer, wanting more, needing more.

 

His hand worked under the hem of her skirt, moving higher.

 

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, hand teasing along the elastic of her underwear.

 

“I—oh god!” she cried out as one finger plunged inside, aided by her arousal.

 

“I will stop,” his tone was even.  “All you have to do is tell me.”

 

And she believed him.

 

 


End file.
